Page 35 of City Of Thieves
Trails of blood.
He holds up three fingers. “I like pretentious artwork, I’m taking etiquette lessons from an auction expert, and I’m searching for the man who killed my brother.”
“I don’t think I understand—”
“I’m playing,dolcezza,” he says patiently. “Two lies. One truth. Which is correct?”
I let his words sink in for a minute, and then I finally see his shadows for what they are.
Guilt.
Anger.
Revenge.
“The truth is so fucking obvious when it wants to be,” he murmurs, reaching up to smooth a strand of hair away from my cheek.
“Your brother was murdered?” I say, my voice husky with shock.
“New Jersey rules.” He grimaces. “Now I’m going to have to do some damage to that pretty face.”
Rather my face than my heart.
“I’m sorry...”
“I don’t want ‘sorry.’ I want answers.”
There’s something hard in the way he says it, something glinting with accusation again, like a diamond without the shine.
“I need to go.” I lunge for my purse, my mind in freefall.
“No.” His hand comes crashing down on mine. “Stay.”
“Why did you just tell me that?” I whisper.Why did you just make my life more complicated?“You said it yourself; you don’t trust me. Less than eight hours ago, you were accusing me of betraying you and wanted me dead.”
He laughs—that same rough, wicked sound that worms its way into parts of me it shouldn’t. “Maybe I’ve had too much to drink, Tatiana. Maybe I wanted to see your reaction. Maybe I thought you deserved to know my reason for blackmailing you.”
“Are we playing my father’s favorite game again?” His hand is still resting on mine, and all I can think iswarm, warm, warm.
“What do you think?”
“Let me go, Renzo,” I say, and he stiffens at the sound of his first name on my lips at last.
“Tell me one thing before I do...” His eyes give a cursory sweep of my face, and then he’s flipping my hand over and pinning it to the polished counter, his expression turning cold and savage as I yelp in surprise.
“W-what the hell are you doing?”
“Exposing you, Miss Sanders.” His grip on me tightens. “You forget, it’s my job to notice everything, so why thefuckdo you have the Russian word for ‘cat’ tattooed here?” He swipes his finger against the black letters inked into my wrist. “That’s Bratva prison code for ‘thief,’ sweetheart. What did you steal, and—for the last fucking time—what are you hiding from me?”
I can’t seem to draw a breath. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“Is everything okay here, ma’am?” The bartender sidles into view, glaring at Renzo’s grip on my wrist.
“It will be, in approximately ten seconds,” he snarks back.
“You bastard,” I whisper. “Did you think that by giving me a shot of honesty, then snatching it away again that I’d do the same? Was all that stuff about your brother even true?”
